Orchid’s weight fell on Antsy, and he grunted. The girl was much more solid than she looked. He clasped her arm. ‘What’s this, lass? What’s she goin’ on about?’
She steadied herself, blinking rapidly, a hand on Antsy’s shoulder. ‘If what she says is true-’
‘It is,’ the Andii woman asserted.
‘-then I am part Andii, yes. But also part — Eleint.’
Antsy jerked away a step. ‘Eleint! But that’s …’
‘Yes,’ the Andii woman shouted. ‘That is so. Child, whoever hid you and protected you all these years has taught you also, I see. Very good. Now join us. It is time to continue your education.’
‘Orchid,’ Corien murmured, ‘you don’t have to go with these witches …’
‘I need to know,’ she answered just as low, fierce. ‘I want to.’
Antsy nodded. ‘’Tis true — we can’t stop you. But what of us?’
She shot him an insulted look. ‘I’m not an utter fool, Bridgeburner.’ She raised her chin to the Andii woman. ‘I have terms!’
They barely made it to shore before the hide boat became too heavy with water to be manoeuvrable. Crouched, Yusek hugged her knees, warming herself, watching the flooded thing slowly drift away. It was no more than an oval rim now, like a squeezed ring laid on the smooth dark surface of the river. She was soaked and shivering but had to admit that she missed the damned thing. Beat walkin’, that was for sure.
The Seventh merely shouldered his meagre roll of gear, waterskin and such, and set off. Sall and Lo followed. Yusek bent her head back to send an entreating look to the sky and all the gods, but bit back any complaint knowing it would be entirely useless. Well, she suddenly realized, seem to have finally understood that lesson at least.
She pulled up her own roll and shoulder bag of wet gear and followed. It was many hours before dawn. She was exhausted. It had been almost impossible to sleep in the damned boat what with the constant bailing and the sloshing water. Now they were expected to march on? What was the rush? It wasn’t like the city was goin’ anywhere.
She pushed herself to reach Sall, and announced: ‘I’m beat! I ain’t going another step. We need to sleep.’
Sall hesitated, glanced ahead to the others. ‘They will not stop.’
Yusek sank to her knees. ‘Well — what’s the use of arriving on your last legs? Too tired to be of any use? Aw, fuck it,’ and she glared at the river making its sluggish way north, gleaming beneath bands of clouds.
Sall jogged ahead.
Some time later the three returned. They sat without a word. A few scraps of food were handed out and the waterskins made the rounds. Someone must have kept watch but Yusek didn’t know who because she immediately fell asleep.
Late in the morning they set off again, following the Maiten’s east shore. Here they climbed small hills and narrow gullies the sides of which seemed too steep to be natural. It occurred to Yusek that they were crossing the remains of large channels that might have once carried water from the river. The Maiten was far too low now even to reach these features, but at some time in the past it must have run much higher. And these channels, then, would have directed part of the flow eastward. To farms, no doubt. Yet now the Dwelling Plain was a dusty wasteland of dry hills and wind-scoured hardpan. Frankly that fitted quite well with her personal experience of what happened anywhere after people arrived. She’d seen it again and again as a refugee fleeing the Pannions. Their bands would come staggering into towns and settlements, and fighting would immediately break out over water and food. Homes were invaded, herds decimated, water sources bled dry. Then the whole stream would move on again, a swarm of locusts, consuming and destroying all it met. And the only way to have a hope of snatching anything, a handful of barley, or a crust of hard bread, was to be among the first to arrive. Thus the mad dash westward; the desperate effort to beat the mob; to be among the first to kick down the doors.
It had been a harrowing time. And it had left its mark upon her wiry lean limbs, her restless gaze and her constant, almost feverish, nerves. And what of the scars one couldn’t see? The marks upon psyche and spirit? Well, she didn’t even want to think about that.
Now Sall, he interested her. He wasn’t like anyone she’d ever met on her march west, nor among Orbern’s crew. All those boys forced too early to become men had ruled through muscle and viciousness, the fist and the club. But not Sall, nor his father Lo, or this fellow, the Seventh.
Their way was strange, and, she could admit, harsh. But it had clear rules, and that attracted her. She knew she wanted to be part of it.
Late in the day, from one of the higher hillsides, they saw the first hints that they were getting closer. Smoke stained the northeast sky and ahead more and more huts and rotten piers crowded the riverbanks. They were close now. Close to the greatest city of the continent. Yusek had to hug herself to contain her yip of glee.
The murmurings of the arrival preceded them: doors slamming, sandalled feet stamping the stone floor; gasps and exclamations. Then the doors to the Great Hall swung open to admit a troop of Seguleh, dirty and sweat-stained, jogging up the centre.
Courtiers and aristocrats hastily flinched to the sides, making way. From near the white throne Jan watched their advance with stunned incomprehension. What was this? Why were they here?
Leading the troop came Gall. Soot stained his mask and black dried blood caked his side where a wound still gaped wet and open. The Third bowed to Jan.
‘Speak,’ Jan managed, almost breathless with wonder.
Gall straightened, weaving slightly. His chest worked soundlessly. ‘The Moranth,’ he grated. ‘They … used their alchemical weapons upon us. Only we few … escaped the slaughter.’
Still uncomprehending, Jan glared at the man. ‘That is nothing new. They have always had their strange chemistries. The smoking and bursting globes that they throw.’
The Third shook his head as if unable to find the words. ‘This is different, Second. Things have changed during our absence.’
And what an understatement, Gall. Yes. It seems that just as we have changed, so too have the Moranth. It is to be expected.
The Third bowed again. ‘I accept full responsibility, Second. I await your judgement.’
Jan signed for him to rise. ‘No, Third. All responsibility is mine and mine alone. Our rush to engage was foolish. And obviously costly beyond measure. We must re-evaluate our strategy.’
‘I concur,’ put in a new voice and Jan glanced down to see the Mouthpiece at his side. ‘When the rest of your people arrive, Second, then a new army will be sent to punish the Moranth. In the meantime control over the city must be enforced. You Seguleh must keep the population in order.’
Jan struggled to keep his tone neutral as he said: ‘And how do you propose we do so?’
‘Why,’ the sickly pale man answered as he dabbed a cloth to his sweaty forehead, ‘are you not my sword and anvil?’
Jan turned his mask to the immobile Legate upon his white stone seat. ‘I suggest, Legate, that we may not have the time.’
‘Oh?’
‘Yes. The Moranth have dealt us a severe blow. I would be surprised if they did not strike now while we are weakened.’
‘Do not fear, Second. We are impregnable here within the protection of the Circle.’
Fear? This creature thinks I fear? Great Ancestors! The gulf between our thinking. Our mutual miscomprehension … beyond belief. If I fear at all, it is for the future of my people.
Yet Jan bowed, saying, ‘Of that I have no doubt, Legate.’
A knock brought Tiserra to her door. She was reluctant to open it, expecting some damned debt collector — not that she couldn’t handle such a one, but it was a distraction from her work. Finally, the persistence of the knocking, and its gentleness, persuaded her to answer.